Planet Genocide I (Galaxies Collide Book 3) (13 page)

The Jacobs family had been sitting in pensive fear in room 311 for a number of hours, their tension mounting as the sounds from outside gradually subsided. Muffled screams had filled the air initially, the pedestrians and hotel guests running in terror from the waterfront as police cruisers swept onto the hotel forecourt, the officers jumping in startled shock from their vehicles as they saw the black armoured figures on the beach and swarming across the nearby districts.

Numerous gunshots had rung out as the screams and shouting initially intensified, the loving parents cradling their children in the hotel room and covering their ears as the family whimpered in fear of the unknown. The adults had actively encouraged their children to eat, the food eventually becoming cold and left as the tension within the room rose higher.

The gunshots had gradually receded, police sirens in the distance becoming less and less frequent as the family huddled together. As silence descended had remained for some time, Brian rose from the foot of the beds they had been leaning against, waving his hand dismissively at his wife’s distressful stare, ‘I am just going to look out briefly…I will be near the door…’

Brian tiptoed across the carpet, discarding his rubber summer shoes and continuing cautiously towards the door barefoot, his breath held as he felt his heart racing. Cautiously reaching out for the handle, he glanced back, nodding in reassurance to the wife that stared in wondrous disbelief towards him, his voice a hushed whisper, ‘Just a peek…it will be ok…’

Slowly the door opened inwards, the man’s bare feet curling on the deep pile carpet as he edged towards the opening. Nudging forward, he stole a brief glance to either side into the corridor, staring along the lavishly decorated and ornate carpet, the gold and red furnishings and bright wall lights sparkling for over fifty metres to the lifts.

Cautiously glancing round again, Brian saw the ice and coke machines in a corridor recess several metres to the left, his eyes widening in excitement as he realised the room minibar was empty, the children’s potential excitement at the prospect of some fizzy drinks.

Checking the corridor to either side again, he grinned in anticipation, running a hand over his pocket to reassure himself he had some change. Lunging forward, he sprinted toward the recess, his hand reaching into the trousers for the coins.

Reaching the gap in the corridor, his breathing was short and sharp, the adrenalin flowing through his body as he drew air in, dropping to his knees in front of the dispensing machine and cautiously stretching up to drop coins into the slot.

He held his breath as the change dropped through the machine, wincing at the noise as he tentatively chose which plastic bottled of drinks to take to the children. The bottles ‘clunked’ into the retrieval slot, Brian staring defiantly at the machine as it seemed to be making as much noise as possible, his breathing shallow as he leant out cautiously to glance to either side of the corridor.

Collecting six bottles, he struggled upwards, pushing the cold plastic against his shirt and shivering instinctively as the condensation touched his skin through the thin colourful fabric. He edged towards the corridor once more, his heart pounding as he glanced again to either side, the walkway deserted as he pushed himself across the carpet, shouldering the door open and stepping back into the room, his wife’s nervous head rising and glaring at him from behind the beds.

He lunged forward, his voice a triumphant hiss, ‘Cold drinks everyone…’ His eyes narrowing as he stared at his wife.

Pointing frantically at the closing door, the woman hissed back, ‘It will make a noise…stop it!’

Brian dropped the bottles onto the bed, the containers bouncing slightly as he spun round, taking large deliberate steps towards the door across the carpet. Grabbing the handle, he closed the door silently, reaching instinctively for the lock below and turning it, a satisfying click sounding as the deadbolts struck home. He turned, grinning and stepping back into the room, his bare feet sinking into the deep pile carpet and indicating to the bottles, ‘That should keep us for a while…’

The black armoured figure stepped from one corridor into the next, the helmet turning and staring the length of the heavily decorated walkway. Heavy alloy boots sank into the deep carpet, the blood splattered armour advancing as red eyes darted from side to side, the twin bladed crimson liquid laden weapon dripping onto the carpet below.

Glancing at the doors on either side, the armoured figure dismissed the heat emissions from within, all of the rooms empty. Stepping forward again, the figure tensed, muscles expanding against the armoured plate as the helmet turned back, the head sloping to one side as the figure recalculated the heat from within once more.

Slowly the armoured hand rose before the door, the helmet glancing to either side as the hand pushed forward, the door flying open as the locks shattered the frame. A terrified scream from within as the black armoured figured stepped through the doorway and into the sunlight streaming through the windows.

Brian tensed, hearing the muffled scream from along the corridor, his wife gasping as she grasped his arm tightly in fear. He rose slowly from the side of the bed, stepping towards the front door, his eyes glancing frantically around for a potential weapon.

Grasping the empty champagne bottle, he stepped gingerly towards the door, raising the bottle as he reached nervously for the lock. The children whimpered behind him, Moira rubbing her hands nervously through their hair in reassurance as the lock clicked back, Brian holding his breath as he reached for the handle cautiously, pressing his shoulder next to the surface.

Another muffled scream, this time cut short, the dull thump of a body collapsing onto the floor, the lifeblood spilling onto the carpet. Brian opened the door, his eyes moving to the gap as he glanced out. The door opened further, his feet slipping across the carpet as his head moved from side to side in the corridor, the walkway empty.

He turned back, hissing into the room, ‘There’s no one there…we will be fine…give the kids some drinks…’ Brian’s head turned back, red eyes glowing in a black helmet before him as he gulped and gasped.

He backed slowly into the room, his legs shaking and heart pounding as the armoured figure stepped forward. Brain’s stomach twisted, his hands shaking as he heard Moira gasp behind him. The seven-foot black muscled silhouette stopped at the end of the narrow entrance corridor, blood dripping from the blades in its armoured fist as the Morgon studied the man in front of him, dismissing the raised bottle as offering limited resistance.

The helmeted eyes glowed red, staring across at the bed and seeing the whimpering female, tears flowing down her face, the terrified man in front of him beginning to beg, his voice trembling, ‘L-listen…I have a f-family…please leave us…don’t hurt the children…they are special needs...’ Brian fell to his knees, tears flowing down his face as he dropped the bottle, his eyes staring up pleadingly at the armoured figure above as he saw the muscles tense across its frame.

Then the helmet moved across to the bed again, staring at the small figure that rose up next to her mother, Bianca raising a hand to point excitedly at the Morgon, ‘Armour man!’

The black armoured head leant to one side once more, realising the child’s strange behaviour was special. The eyes moved to the man again, the arms tensing once more as the two bladed weapon slowly rose.

Brian Jacobs fell forward onto the deep pile carpet as the door clicked shut, his chest heaving as tears poured from his eyes. The Morgon soldier had placed the twin blades back into his rear body armour and pointed out of the window towards the ocean, the waves crashing against the beach as a low voice clicked several times. Then the tall black armoured trooper had turned on his heels and marched from the room.

The numerous mobile homes and camper vans sped along the coastal road, the many brake lights extending to the distance as they accelerated along the smooth tarmac. Kurt Hausser’s vehicle was near the rear of the column, an American rental home in front of him as he attempted to console his trembling wife in the passenger seat of the large Mercedes as the vehicles sped alongside La Fontaine Saint Come.

Staring at the lights of Asnelles in the distance, Kurt spoke softly, his wife whimpering next to him, ‘We will be fine…the problems in the town are behind us, we will go south from the town ahead and go to Caen, from there further inland and then back towards home…the police and authorities will deal with any problems.’

She glanced across at her husband, wiping the tears from her eyes as one of their dogs nuzzled her left hand, the pet always sensitive to her emotions. Kurt grinned at the Fox Terrier, ‘See…Herrache knows it will be okay…’ The woman nodded solemnly, trusting her husband as he looked back to the road.

Flashes came from the end of the village to the left, Kurt’s eyes widening as he braked instinctively, the homes in front also braking hard. The lead mobile home burst into flames, the fire billowing from the drivers’ compartment as it veered into trees on the right, another mobile home exploding behind it, the large vehicle rising into the air as the rocket erupted beneath it, flames bursting from its sides as the fuel tanks ignited.

The vehicle in front of Kurt suddenly lurched forward, turning sharply to the right and moving past the stationary vehicles, smoke rising from the tyres as the headlights sparkled into the gloom. Sparks flew as the rear of the home clipped the one in front the sides swaying, Kurt following the American’s lead as another vehicle burst into flames in the distance. The American vehicle bounced on the right verge, the wheels spinning as it hit another home in the queue, the tyres squealing as the driver yanked the steering wheel to the right, forcing the large carrier into a side road, the street sign for ‘Route de la Mer’ crushed beneath the vehicles large wheels.

Grinding metal squealed as the large Mercedes followed the other mobile home, its sides tearing along the vehicle to the left, Kurt’s wife staring wide eyed at the shocked passengers in the other vehicles as they passed, the mobile home’s wheels bouncing on the edge of the right ditch.

Flames billowed into the air ahead as another vehicle burst into flames, the American and German tourists desperately jumping from their compartments and clambering up the verges into the fields to the right. The German yanked on the steering wheel, the robust mobile home ploughing across the verge and bouncing violently over the corner of the ditch as his wife screamed, their two dogs barking furiously behind.

Black armoured figures ran forward from the village, swarming over the stationary homes as the Mercedes bounced back onto the road, the tyres skidding as Kurt spun the wheel once more, the American mobile home sitting ahead on the left, its frame leaning at an angle as the wheels spun for grip in the mud and ditch.

The Mercedes accelerated, then lurched to a halt, Kurt braking hard. Screams from the fields as Kurt shouted frantically across at the stricken vehicle next door, Mitch’s horrified face looming into view in the driver’s window. Kurt scrambled from his seat, lunging for the side door as his wife covered her face with her hands in fear, her shoulders shaking as she called out desperately, ‘Let’s go Kurt! Please!’

The side door swung open, Kurt slamming it behind him as he ran to the back of the German made vehicle, inhuman shrieks coming from the village as he ran along the back of the vehicle. Flashes lit up the sky, the light glinting against the rear of the mobile phone as the sounds of approaching rotor blades swept across the terrain. Reaching the corner, he collided with the breathless American, Mitch dragging his two terrified children behind him as his wife struggled from their own mobile home.

The German hissed in the darkness, more terrified screams echoing through the dark fields, a helicopter exploding and falling from the sky to the east, ‘Get into the mobile home quickly…’ He grabbed one of the shrieking children, lifting the girl high as he ran back around the vehicle, Mitch pulling his other daughter and wife behind. A French jet roared past, just off the coast, the girls screaming as missiles jetted upwards into the night’s sky from the village. More flashes, another explosion as a police helicopter crashed onto the beach, flames jetting upwards.

Black armoured figures chased the fleeing tourists down in the fields, their eyes glowing red with excitement as they slipped blades from their back, hacking and slashing at the defenceless humans. Screams cut short, dismembered and contorted bodies left alone twitching in the darkness as the black armour ran forward.

Mitch was whimpering, frantically dragging his daughter and wife behind him along the side of the Mercedes, his eyes seeing silhouettes in the headlights on the road along the coast, his heart pounding as he realised it was only a matter of time before they were found. Then his body jolted in fear, seeing the armoured helmet staring at them from beyond a burning Volkswagen Caravelle, the silhouette of the driver still in his seat amongst the flames.

Clambering into the back of the German mobile home, Kurt dropped the girl towards the laminated wooden floor, pushing the dogs back as he lunged for the driver’s seat, the side door slamming violently, Mitch shouting in desperation, ‘They are coming for us!’

The Mercedes engine roared, tyres screeching on the tarmac as the large vehicle lunged forwards, the women screaming as the large mobile home gained grip, their eyes widening as armoured hands scraped against the rear body, the mobile home accelerating into the darkness and to the south towards Caen.